


the call

by Areiton



Series: Pictures of You and Us [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Dancing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Ian is a meance, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Texting, Tyler is a sweet oblivious ray of sunshine, vaguely dub-con photos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:22:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Tyler looks pretty everywhere, so he doesn’t know why this is so startling.He’s unfairly good looking, something Ian used to tease JR about--still does, because he likes winding the other man up--but it’s not just a joke.In a profession where beautiful people are a dime a dozen Tyler is...special.





	the call

Tyler looks pretty everywhere, so he doesn’t know  _ why _ this is so startling. 

He’s unfairly good looking, something Ian used to tease JR about--still does, because he likes winding the other man up--but it’s not just a joke. 

In a profession where beautiful people are a dime a dozen Tyler is...special. 

He’s rugged and thick, all powerful thighs and bulging muscles and that fucking scruff that Ian likes to dream about-- _ it would make your thighs burn for days, darling, can’t you just imagine it. He’d nuzzle, before he blew you, drag it out and mark you up. You like being marked, you’d love it, wouldn’t you, don’t you want to come for me, sweetheart?-- _ but it was paired with those adorable ears and teeth, a smile that was bashful and sweet and sometimes wicked edged.

He’d been in Hollywood for over a decade, and he still exuded an innocence that Ian didn’t understand, but that drug him in, and made him crazy. 

So. 

Tyler, he’s pretty. He’s sweet. He’s a bright star in a sea of shiny, and Ian thinks sometimes he’s getting used to it. Sometimes he even manages to convince himself it’s just JR. 

And then he sees Tyler, in the soft sunlight streaming into their suite in Amsterdam and he can’t fucking  _ breathe.  _

~*~ 

<Bobo> i never think about how stressed he is.

<Bobo> [Image attached] 

<Bobo> and then I see him without the stress. 

**_< DOB> He’ll break your heart with that. Take care of him, would you? _ **

<Bobo> of course, sweetheart. 

~*~ 

Tyler is cuddly, when he’s sleepy. They’re close, always have been, and Ian is tactile, likes being in the space of the people he loves. When JR is around,  Tyler keeps his distance, a polite thing with a wide smile that never quite reaches his dim eyes, but Ian thinks it’s just--

They don’t hide. 

They’re not  _ out _ , not officially, but they’ve never hid, either, flaunt their friendship, their closeness, wrap it in something innocent enough that the fans speculate and the casting directors can ignore it, and they don’t feel like they’re lying. 

Dylan isn’t lying, not really. 

But he’s distant. He lives his life as privately as possible. There are promo tours and invasive press, but he’s always kept it at arms length, never let the fans close in social media. It’s a choice, and Ian understands it, especially after the accident. 

But he knows, too, that the way Dylan is so careful to keep his relationship with Tyler out of sight  _ hurts _ him. 

He understands, and he hates it for his friend. 

He hates it for both of them. 

~*~ 

<Bobo> Feel better, darling?

_ <Bourne> no. I’m lonely and hard and you’re a world away.  _

<Bobo> sulking? I do love when you pout. 

<Bobo> shall I send you something to cheer you up? 

<Bobo> [Image attached]

_ <Bourne> jesus christ, bobo. _

~*~ 

He didn’t  _ mean _ to do it, was the thing. 

He was still stumbling sleepily through the hotel suite, searching for coffee, and he saw Tyler. He’d emerged from his room at some point, and was sprawled on the couch, one hand thrown above his head, one curled on his bare chest, his face soft and slack in sleep, boxers indecently low on his hips. 

And it hadn’t really occurred to him, to  _ not  _ take a picture, because they so often only get to see Tyler put together, performing for fans and onscreen and like this, he’s stripped down, bare and raw and beautiful. 

He took the picture and stumbled over to get coffee, a smile on his lips. 

When Tyler joins him on the balcony, thirty minutes later, there’s a pillow crease on his cheek, and a smile that looks more honest than anything he’s seen in years, on his lips. 

“Thanks for this, Bobo,” he says. “I really did need it.” 

Ian smiles. 

~*~ 

_ “ _ Tell me what you miss?” 

_ “It’s definitely not your shitty coffee.” _ His voice is teasing, fond. 

“I miss your mouth. I miss the wet warmth of it. Do you think he’d like it?” 

_ “Bobo.” _

Ian groans, a noise familiar and Pavlovian, and reaches for himself. 

_ “You’d let him watch us. While I blow you. You’d  _ like  _ it.”  _

“Yeah.” He answers mindlessly. 

“I want you to fuck me, while he holds me still. Want him to kiss the taste of me out of your mouth.” 

_ “Babe.”  _ His voice is a gasp, telling, close. 

“Tell me.” 

_ “I’m--Ian, I’m close.”  _ He comes with a groan, and Ian closes his eyes, rocks down on the fingers he’s pressed inside, and comes, mouth open in a silent cry. 

“I miss you.” He says it softly, like a confession he’s afraid of, and an ocean away, JR hums. 

“ _ Love you, Bobo.”  _

~*~ 

Sometimes, he thinks Tyler knows. 

He’ll smile, and it’ll be bashful edged with wicked. 

He’ll press against Ian, a heartbeat too long. 

He’d wake to find Tyler sitting on the edge of his bed, a cup of coffee in his hand, and when Ian gave him a curious, puzzled look, he’d only murmur, voice husky warm, “Jay said to take care of you.” 

He flirted, and Ian knew it was flirting, because he remembers the way Tyler was, when he was dancing around Dylan, when they were both still fighting falling into each other. 

One night, they’re in a bar in Warsaw, and Ian is watching the people dancing, something wistful in his gaze, and when Tyler asks, he shrugs, and says, “Jay loves dancing.” 

Tyler’s eyes are hot and he thinks it’s the whiskey, the wine, the anonymity, everything adding up to  _ freedom _ but he finds himself tugged, pulled along by Tyler’s grip on his wrist, and then they’re dancing, Tyler pressed against his back, hands heavy on his hips. It’s a fast song, but Tyler directs him, keeps them slow and pressed together, a dirty grind that has Ian’s mouth dry and dick hard, and fucking bewildered because he never expected  _ this.  _

For all their talk, for all their game playing, Ian still never honestly expected  _ Tyler.  _

But he’s there, pressed so close Ian can feel every twitch and roll of his hips, can feel the hard line of his cock pressing into Ian ass, can feel stubble dragging over the nape of his neck, and the brush of lips against his ear, as Tyler murmurs, almost too low to be heard over the music, “Should we send him a picture? 

Ian’s head falls back on his shoulder, and his smile is lazy and predatory and hot, his eyes glittering in the dark light. 

“Yes.” 

~*~ 

_ <Bobo> your boy is a meance.  _

_ < _ **_DOB > ha. You got fooled by that shy smile, didn’t you? _ **

_ <Bobo> he needs a goddamn warning label.  _

**_< DOB> maybe. But you’re into it. _ **

_ <Bobo> shut up.  _

**_< DOB> that’s not a no, man. _ **

 


End file.
